


Keep It Safe

by Hope



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Interspecies, M/M, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-04
Updated: 2002-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during FotR after Bilbo has left (but before Frodo has), Gandalf makes one of his many visits to the Shire to check up on Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep It Safe

**Author's Note:**

> From 'The Shadow of the Past' (chapter 2, Book 1) :  
> "During the next year or two [Gandalf] had turned up fairly often, coming   
> unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise."

Mist rises silently with the moon out of the soft curves of the Shire, mirroring the paleness of the sky. The mist's density eases as it stretches closer to the sky, until all that divides them is a fine outline of the mountainous horizon. It is beautiful even without the light of day, and I wish once more that I wasn't merely passing through on a more urgent errand.

Hobbiton is silent at this hour, and I glide through the empty streets thinking of the inhabitants of the dark holes in deep sleep, dreaming, no doubt, of supper and second breakfasts. Eventually the road starts to ease upwards in a gentle slope, and I finally come to the familiar gate, blessing Sam as it silently swings open on well-oiled hinges.

Bag End is as silent as the other smials nesting around it, the round green door cast silver by moonlight, and my shadow is a dark void rising and expanding as I approach it. I pause as I reach the door, standing motionless as I listen to the silence inside. I carefully twist the handle, easing it open slowly and wincing slightly at the dull moan of protest from its old wood.

I stoop as I enter the door, and remain bent a moment longer to avoid the elaborate candelabra I know hovers above the main entrance-way. I softly make my way down the main hall of Bag End, knowing my way even in the darkness of night, although usually the hall is lit up and blazing with hundreds of candles, and I am following a rather excited and talkative hobbit.

Frodo never liked the dark.

I eventually come to the door I seek, listening once more for a moment before I enter, the soft sibilance of an almost-snore making me smile before I silently slip into the room.

The curtains are thrown back, a view of the mercury-soaked Shire still and divine outside the window, but my attention is focused on the figure in the bed. The moon casts a sheen over him, painting his body pale silver like starlight. Sleep lends a softness to his features that is almost child-like, and his chest rises almost imperceptibly with the rhythm of his breath. He lies on his side, one hand curled beside his face on the pillow, the other flung out before him, as if he were reaching for something by his bed before sleep suddenly overtook him. His hair is black and inky in the monochromatic light, curls tousled, and his mouth is slightly open and half-pressed to the white linen of the pillow.

I kneel, cursing the very audible protests my knees make as I settle to the floor by the head of the bed. Reaching out to gently brush an errant curl from where it curves around his cheekbone, I rest my hand lightly on the side of his face - a hand large enough to rest the heel of my palm on his jaw while the fingers whisper in his hair. He is very warm.

His eyelids flutter, drifting open and blinking as he blearily focuses on me.

"You're late," he mumbles, pushing up out of sleep and into my hand.

"Were you expecting me, then?" I ask, chuckling.

He flops over onto his back, arms outspread, body warm and soft from sleep. His nightshirt is twisted about by his movement and he shifts absently, smiling. "I'm always expecting you."

I allow my hand to wander from his face, finding and stroking the small area of bare skin exposed by the gaping neck of the nightshirt, savouring the smooth heat of it. My hand eventually comes to rest, spanning his chest, thumb rubbing gently the hollow of his throat, feeling the slow, steady heartbeat; an unassuming rhythm that seems as if it would plod on forever.

He sighs, eyes half-lidded as he tilts his head and raises a lazy hand to comb through my beard.

"What news of the outside world?" he asks almost absently, body swelling slightly then settling with an unvoiced yawn. "What is going on outside the Shire?"

"Many things, which I have neither the time nor patience -" _nor heart_ I silently add. "- to tell you."

He frowns slightly, his brow creasing in hints of lines that ought to be more prominent, considering his age.

"More elves have been passing through the Shire," he says. "I see them sometimes, when I go traipsing towards the north." He smiles wryly. "Or at least, they allow me to see them. They're on their way to the Havens."

His final statement is more a question, and he looks up into my face with a hint of concern. "It's as if they are fleeing," he says to my silence, his voice almost a whisper. "Sailing . . . sailing, sailing over the sea, they are going into the West and leaving us."

I silence him with a kiss, leaning down and breathing in his thick, sleepy scent, and I swallow a small expelled breath as my mouth covers his.

He tastes like warmth and sleep and ale (no wonder he didn't wake when I came in), and a fresh, welcome wetness that invites my mouth to join it. His lips are slick and smooth as they move slightly against mine, his tongue hot as it lazily traces patterns over my lips, my teeth.

"I'm glad you're back," he murmurs when we part, and I lay my head on the pillow beside his, my arms now curved about his shoulders as I kneel on the floor. His hand - arm curled about my neck - plays absently with my hair, twisting it around his fingers.

"Well, Bilbo _did_ insist I keep an eye on you."

"Ghastly old tease," he laughs, giving my ear a tweak. "I know the only reason you came back at all was for Bilbo's dwindling stock of Old Toby." His chuckles are rich against my arm slung about his chest, and I feel their vibrations in my bones. He turns his head again, facing towards me, and shifts closer to place soft kisses over my brow, eyes, nose, cheek, the corner of my mouth and then -

I pull away gently, trying to ignore the regret I feel at his arm slipping away as I rise upright again, leaving my neck cold and exposed to the air. He bites his lip for an instant.

"Your journey must have been long and tiresome. Especially for you to arrive here so late. Would you like me to prepare one of the guestrooms for you?" he asks, his expression unsure and an unspoken question gleaming in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't stay," I say eventually, not without some regret as I note the way the moonlight seems to chisel his features, and the healthy flush of his cheeks. I withdraw my arms slowly, instead gripping his hand and bringing it to my lips. "I have many other pressing matters to attend to, and I can't afford to stay in the Shire any longer than necessary."

"Oh." He tries unsuccessfully to mask the disappointment in his voice and he casts his eyes down, his free hand fiddling with the coverlet. "Not even for the night?" He hazards a quick glance up at me again, his face flushing further and his hand hot and damp in mine.

I shake my head. "I just came to see how you were getting on. To make sure you're well."

He nods slightly. "Of course," he says, raising his head once more to look up into my face. "And I am. Well, I mean. Sam is taking care of all the household needs I cannot handle myself, not to mention the garden - which, by the way, is looking splendid - I wish you could see it in daylight - and I have several of my older cousins for companionship, not to mention to accompany me to the Green Dragon, when the need arises . . . and of course Lobelia is around quite often, hanging on the bell whenever she's able." He snorts. "So I am being quite well looked after."

I stare down at him, once more resting a hand on the side of his face as I examine him closely. He returns my gaze earnestly and eventually I rise once more, satisfied with what I see. I run a hand through his hair one last time before rising on creaking legs and gathering up my cloak and staff from where I've left them propped in the corner.

"One last thing, Frodo," I say, turning from the door "Bilbo's ring. Have you been keeping it safe?"

"Yes," he replies. "Secret and safe, just as you asked."

"Very well then." I open the round door, stooping as I step through. "Expect me when you see me." I can't resist turning for one last glance. "Farewell, my dear hobbit," I say softly, and shut the door gently behind me.


End file.
